


Let the light grow dark

by pistolrush



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: A Pre-Sequel if you will, Attempted Murder, Don't Like Don't Read, Don’t like don’t read please, Drugs, Erotic Grotesque, Evil Main Character, F/M, Guro, It never ends well, Like needles and syringes, Like talking about the beauty of Stefano’s ‘art’, Main Character has some abilities in Stem but it is very passive, Main Character now works for Mobius, Main Character was An angel of mercy style Serial Killer, Main character reminiscing about past murders, Medical stuff, Poisoning, Pre-Canon, Serial Killers, So don’t read if you get squicked by that sort of thing, The fact that this is about Stefano Valentini should be warning enough, This work is going to be dark, Watch me try to be romantic about bloody eagles, When two monsters become friends, Will update tags as I continue to write this series, please read the tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24254317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pistolrush/pseuds/pistolrush
Summary: A monster finds out that there are more elegant beasts than she. How lovely it is to be the rabbit in the talon of the hawk.
Relationships: Obscura/Stefano Valentini, Stefano Valentini/Original Character(s), Stefano Valentini/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 7





	1. Run run as fast as you can

**Author's Note:**

> I will try to update this weekly until it is done. Also and really this shouldn’t need to be said but I don’t condone these behaviors in real life. In real life, these are a bunch of awful people. But in fiction, I just like the idea of bad meeting evil.

Because I refused the flame, I gladly sought the knife. It was not a decision I made lightly or consciously. My preference was not to die. If I would die tonight, I did not want to go wailing into the configuration.

Something in me could not abide how graceless the act of incineration appeared. It offended me to die like this. It seemed more inelegant as I watched my teammates die screaming or be reborn in the Word of the Father. Accepting the voice of the tainted priest as their flesh contorted. Burned into their new shapes. I gagged at the sight.

It occurs to me now that it would have been easier to welcome the fire. Allow the gentle Father’s words to corrupt me than enjoy the dubious clemency of the blade. The only complication, I hated fire.

My hatred of fire was imprinted on me from childhood. The scars from my past brush with a blaze persisted. A mass of pale scar tissue flowing around my golden brown torso like a sickening river.

This Father wanted me to just let it in. Not now, even to save my life. Better someone else kills me than live with the brightness. Mobius had not paid me enough to willingly dance with fire. No secrets were worth it.

As I waited for my appraisal, kneeling in the dirt of the town park, I worked at my bonds. The knot amateur, they used scout rope knots of all things. These acolytes had been programmers and psychologists before receiving the word of the Father. Not people accustomed to capturing and detaining others.

In my line of work, knowing how to slip entanglements was just as important as how to tie one. They hadn’t removed my kit. It still lay under my BDU... A comfort in this place of madness. I kept pressure on the flawed binding and I knew I would escape their trap.

The Father is near now. He looked deep into the eyes of Captain Embry, who shakes and shivers in his helpless terror. Foolish, weak man. To think I admired his strength once. He is less than five paces away from me. The friar smells of embers and smoke. Like how my father smelled that night. In fear-laced haste, I yank and twist at the restraints. I did not care if the cultists or this Father could see me now.

“There is no reason to hold fear in your heart, honourable man. Receive my word and you will be safe.”

Embry shook his head. The holy man sighed in disappointment. I nearly sobbed when the cord gave way. I throw myself back down the hill as the Father stroked his face. His pyre was unseen as I fell, but I could hear his shrieks and smell him burning. Like sweet pork fat left on a grill too long, the scent made me retch as I fall. Embry’s screams echos in my ears.

I land hard, my teeth cutting into my tongue. Blood drips from my lips and the sharp sting feels real. When I woke up, my mouth would spill blood in my capsule.

A dull ache runs up my arms as I hit them against the leaf-covered ground. For a moment, I lie there looking up at the synthetic star filled sky. Despite the night, some dark is tinged red, no doubt under the dominion of the Father’s mind. The blue from the artist. I wondered which personality caused the streaks of white?

No matter. I was free. My arms tingle as tears of relief threaten to well up.

‘No scorching! No bonfire! It has not touched me. I do not have to burn with it." I am dizzy with joy. For a brief stupid moment, I almost forget about the witch-finder clique. But they were quick to intrude.

“Bring that broken child to me! The poor thing flees from true enlightenment, and we must make her whole! Little lamb, all this running proves she needs my salvation!“ The Father’s voice, clear and thundering over the sounds of the flames. Perhaps I was the only one who could sense the false piety in his voice for his followers roared in religious fervor.

I am up and running, panicked. His devotees will soon be on me. I remember very little from my desperate flight through the roads of Haven. Just tripping and sobbing with desperation as my former comrades and their new friends hunted me. Their howls a powerful motivator for me to run faster.

“Catch the heretic! Set her to the sea of fire! Bring her back to the Father. Make her whole.” A searing pain fills their calls. They were more simple-minded now. They had their weapons, a full combat load out programmed into their heads, and not one of them thought to shoot me. The group were a mob now, intent on tearing me apart, broil me once I faltered. I knew it would be soon.

Already, I was stumbling. My limbs shaking as I scanned the twisted streets of Union, seeking safety. The landscape distorted by the power play of the two men fighting for the core. It was laughable that Mobius ever thought we stood a chance here. That I could resist fate. Even with my sins, I was not as bent as them. I bit my lip to keep the laugh in. Frightened that I would end up doubled over and gasping for air.

Most of the houses I ran past were windowless and had no doors. A side effect of the core’s influence. She can only make them backdrops because of the distance and stress. I hoped the closer I got to her, the more likely I found a complete house.

As I ran further into town, I noticed the sky lose its red tinge. With the blues mixing the sky into a deep twilight purple, it resembled a normal night. My heart went icy.

Blue was another color of danger. It was that man’s hue, the one Mobius had sent me in to stop. The photographer. It did not gladden my heart when my chasers quieted down and slowed. Their voices sounded more distant and reserved. That meant he was still here somewhere, and I was tired, scared and without a good ranged weapon. My other tools would not work well from far away.

I sneaked into a house after I slipped into an alleyway. The cultist had lost me when there was a blast of bright blue light. I took the moment to break into a house that was fully formed. I kicked open a window to crawl in and hide for a while.

Hopefully, that man didn’t notice me or the noise. I almost fell getting in. My foot sliding in something gelatinous and foul. I heaved. The place reeked of rotten food and burnt wax. There was a soft glow from the few remaining candles. I landed in a kitchen. The table loaded with food that would have been downright domestic if it wasn’t for the decaying food and the dead Mobius employee tied to a chair.

He had bloated, and his skin turned to dark green. Whatever had killed him took his eyes. No blood, but there was a lot of slimy white fluid. It quivered along his eye sockets.

My stomach lurched. He stank so badly. He looked awful. I still needed a firearm, however. I had seen and done far worse for Mobius. Thankfully, his killer left his forty-five.

Choking down a groan of revulsion, I search the body for more ammo. Just one extra clip. This would be tight. Retching at the stench, I pull back both the chamber and bullets before I examine it. It is in good working order, none of the white liquid gummed up the works. I felt a little better.

The body moved then. I didn’t scream. I was too terrified for that. My heart pounding too loud in my head. I couldn’t raise the handgun at him. Rather, a whimper crosses my lips. Even when the body’s struggles forces it and the chair to keel over. He was still alive. I shuddered in disgust.

If I had been thinking straight, I would have run. Climbed through that window and run crying back into the arms of Father Wallace and his cult. Maybe do what my father suggested years ago, and turn the pistol on myself. Instead, I found myself moved by pity. I committed a deed of mercy that brought my doom down upon me.

In a spasm of nausea and stupidity, I aimed the gun at the corpse’s head. Then I pulled the trigger. The person back in the Mobius stasis pod was brain-dead, anyway. Better dead, then wiggling around like a hooked worm. No suffering in a body that was unresponsive. The action satisfied even as his body let loose a terrible odor. Again, I had delivered oblivion to a miserable being. I felt so happy. Then the night flared blue.


	2. All the blood runs hot before growing cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting the monster doesn’t mean you can understand it. Nor can you kill it. But why worry? STEM is a wonderland for monsters like you, right?

As the burnt gunpowder stung my nose and the roar of the pistol deafened me, I watched the blue light flare. Electric like the color of a concussion behind the eyes and intense, It made me blink in dull comprehension. The smoking remains of the Mobius staff member's face turning into a shattered indigo painting.

Dread and dissatisfaction swirled in my gut at how ugly my kill looked. Usually, I favored a more peaceful countenance on my victims.

I had seconds before the photographer would be on me. Unlatching my vest, my kit fell into my hand. I primed my syringes, having done it so many times it was automatic in STEM. I hid one syringe up my sleeve for when he got nearer.

Then I waited. He will come. Too much noise. I hoped that the Lost would not reach me first...

The Administrator had briefed me on him before I had gone in. An artist that fancied himself a master of the grand guignol. Put him down had been the command if you can't talk him down. Same with Wallace

How silly I was back then, thinking Embry's team and I could take them both down. I aimed carefully, seeking him out in the dirty kitchen.

I detected black and blue smoke, a space of glitches like a badly maintained videotape. A man-shaped silhouette disappearing in the night.

"Mia bella donna, you're trembling." The voice is right in my ear. Mocking and genteel, breath like a caress against my cheek. I would have flinched if my training didn't kick in. I turned to find there was no one. Just wisps of smoke with the faint whiff of acetic acid.

I say nothing, merely back myself into a corner of the kitchen. No space for him to sneak up on me. My foot skidded in the liberated brains of my victim. Fear was making me messy. My teeth threatened to chatter.

"I wonder if you were la vergine? Never killed someone before?" Scoffing, I caught sight of a purple shade in the shape of a man, one eye bright, kneeling to better appraise my work. He pulls the head up by ruined hair.

"There is no artistry here but an ingenue shivering as they bring death is alluring." The shadow disappeared, no evidence but the slumping body to show his passage. My hands went from a tremble to full on shaking. The Core had exalted him. Power like that was hard to talk down.

I swallowed my fright. I was not a paltry thing. I was a monster in my own right. Frantically, I tried to find him, pistol wavering in my hand.

Stefano materialized in front of me. The flare of a camera met my attempt to bring my weapon up.

I attempted a gasp of shock, but the burst of light froze me. I can not emote. Stefano is taller than I thought he would be. Whipcord thin and dressed like a dandy. Tailored dark purple suit and leather lapels, he presented himself as more sophisticated than the briefing made him seem. He combed his black hair over his destroyed eye.

The smile made my stomach crawl. I loved this expression. In the past, I wore it easily. He paced closer, and my perception blurred. My eyes not focusing. He reached forward, taking the gun from my nerveless hands.

"No, non possiamo ancora farti rovinare il divertimento. Let me take a better look at you." His hand caressed the beginning of my scars. Traced it down to the edge of my collar. His warm hands covered in leather, but my blurry sight could not detect the color. He moved his hand up, caressing at my jaw before he stopped.

I expected to feel the knife stuck in now. Slid harsh against my liver as I coughed up blood. Made into a stuttering living masterpiece in an infinite loop of death. Instead, he kissed the air beside my cheek.

"With blemishes like that, I first thought you were Wallace's plaything." He stepped back, apprising me like a recent portrait. The tang of acetic acid was stronger now. "You are much too lovely for him. Very rebellious. And watching you run from those idiotas was entertaining. Good instincts, you deserved something more exciting than Wallace and his head games."

I wondered why my power hadn't kicked in. Normally, I could get out of trouble like this. I tried to move, but the paralyzing effect of the light entranced my body.

Even as the knife came out and panic bubbled in my chest like indigestion. Stefano sliced off a strand of my crimson hair, placed it in his left breast pocket.

"Watching you kill that pitiful creation of Myra's was amusing. You didn't hesitate." He pulled my chin up to meet his eyes. "Dear, I feel this face should be familiar to me. No matter. I think with the right preparations, you can be a part of my new magnum opus. Yes, and quite a splendid piece it will be with you as the centerpiece. First, I want to see if you are worth it."

'Worth it?' My mind couldn't keep up with this. What was he talking about? Was Myra involved in this lurid head game as well? This situation was getting more fascinating.

His missing eye flared radiant blue. The kitchen faded, washed away like a poorly made image. The seemingly coherent reality of Union fraying under the strain of his disturbed mind. My eyesight went spotty, then black. It terrified me that I might have gone blind.

Then the light reformed. My surroundings became more lucid. I am in a hallway, red doors and purple lights making the atmosphere like some dingy night club. Or a baroque painting. Colors hiding the blood stains. Glancing around, a blue door opened in front of me. Stefano beaming at me.

"Come to me, and we will have some amusement." The hallway lengthened. He is so far away, he has to shout. "If you make it past my little pet." He chuckled at that. Walked away from the door. I can move again and I drop to my knees, extremities quivering from my previous attempts to struggle.

'Fucking bastard. I'll come but only to give you the rest you ill deserve.' I wiggled my fingers, making sure they were movable.

I heard whirling blades from behind me. Looking around, I perceived a strange beast. I gagged at the sight. Despite my crimes, the STEM system never manifested something like this abomination from me. What was this? What kind of monster was he? I was giddy.

It was made with bodies, multiple female corpses combined like a tree. Lithe, pale carcasses fused together. Various long-haired alluring faces focused on me. It shambled forward with a giggle. On its right hand was a circular saw, buzzing as if hungry to cut me into two.

I got up and ran. I cried at some point. In desperation, I pulled at the doors. They didn't budge. I cursed. I profaned my papa, I hollered out my hatred for Mobius.

The whine of the creature's buzz saw rang louder. A glint of silver is all I glimpsed before I dodged and rolled. Right where my head would be if I didn't instinctively duck. It slashed, hitting the door. The creature giggled again, removing the saw from it. That maniac cackle like a banshee scream in my ears.

My legs spammed as I ran again. Without a reality stabilizer and no weapons, the only smart thing to do was run. Keep sprinting to that cobalt door. Here blue was salvation.

I gasped as the door starts to slowly close. Panicked, I put on a burst of speed. I have to make it; I need to get to him. At least I could manipulate Stefano. A human intellect, pretentious as it was, was there

This thing was probably his insanity and murderous tendencies stripped of pretension. There was no reasoning with it. My tricks wouldn't work if I was in pieces.

My back flares in pain as its arm slices into my back. I sank to my knees, tempted to let this abomination destroy me. Just to spite that Italian twat, but the art would be awful.

I threw myself forward, springing to my feet. Back blazing in anguish, my devotion to the mission giving me the strength to ignore it. I stumble through the door.

Only for the same blue flash to paralyze me.

As my eyes recovered, Stefano cut open my coat. Sliced through my bulletproof vest and t-shirt as I strained and screamed in my head. He makes a shooing noise before another wild giggle sounds. I heard the door slam. He clucked in disapproval at the gash on my back.

"Sometimes that creature gets too enthusiastic. I wanted to make the first cut." He sees me as just another potential creation. He knew nothing about me. He would not suspect. Mobius’s duplicity working in my favor. I did not see him walk around me.

Some of my distress must have been captured. He pet my curly red hair. "Why such a sad face, bella? I noticed how lovely you are." That grin... the smile a poisoner gives as their target drinks the last sips of arsenic tea. Or a nurse as she gifts her victim that delicious little air bubble. It was intriguing to be on the other side of it.

He cuts me between my breasts. The knife gone before I can assess it. I don't register the cut because of my shock. Just the feeling of the blood against my cooling skin. The sting as he burrowed a finger deep into the cut. Fingertips brush against the cartilage of my sternum. I cannot scream. Despite how it hurts. My nerves vibrate with agony. Vision blurs.

How easy it would be to give into this sensation. Lose focus and willingly become a part of his artistry. But the boss didn't send me into Union for enjoyment. He sent me in to asses this crisis. I have to keep cool. Wait for my abilities to kick in.

"Beautiful, these dull clothes from Mobius do nothing to bring out your features." He cups my paralyzed face with his unoccupied hand. His gloves are red. Dizzily, I wondered if the crimson was from his rampages. "Oh, the art I could make with you."

He slipped his hand from my wound. My mind screamed. I fought mentally, praying that my mind's gift breaks his hold of me and heals this. I must focus. There was no fire here. No reason for weakness now.

"This is a sweet face, my dove." He ran his bloody hand down my chest. "Body perfectly malleable for my needs, even if you are older than my preferred canvases. This ugly scar complements your loveliness. I'm curious on how far this goes." He holds my face as he glided the other hand down to the buckle of my pants. One would have thought we were lovers with how intimate he was.

"No, I think that will be for later. A gift for my hard work making art out of you." The threat doesn’t frighten me. Mobius and their doctors violated my mind worse. Anything he would do was a dull echo of that. Stefano trailed blood over my freckled brown chest.

Cool air makes my skin goose bump. My fingertips twitched. My talent starting to make his field lose its potency. I would have sighed in pleasure, but I had to play along.

He lets go of my face, and the blade materializes again. It is long and serrated. Impractical if one wanted to be painless. Stefano liked to see every bit of horror his trade caused. He rubbed my lips with the blade.

'Wait,' I say to my panicking mind, clenching my fingers around the barrel. 'It will be more funny to see his surprised little face. Let us be a good friend.'

He caressed my neck with the edge, its touch gentle as he purrs. "So striking for an agent of Mobius. More striking than even the models of my past work. I'm puzzled why they didn't let us meet sooner."

'Because we would tear each other apart.' Wallace frightened because he reminded me of Papa. He wielded the fire that regressed me to my childhood helplessness. But Stefano would be child's play. He presented himself to me like an offering.

"It seems those people like to keep their remarkable members from me." His voice is a seductive whisper against my earlobe. "I lost hope that I could find the perfect vessel for my next masterpiece. Then you came."

Oh, how I ached to start my work, but not yet. The bevel, full of poisonous fun, rested against my middle finger. Ready to be injected. I kept my eyes unfocused, face softly distressed. For me to begin, he had to keep thinking I was another flesh sculpture in the making.

Men and their egos... he failed to notice my flesh starting to shiver and twitch as his field weakened further. The poor dear thought he was the only killer Mobius would send into Union to frolic and play. Sure the Core had empowered him, made this upcoming strike a gamble. But I could still appear docile and scared. I still had those lethal tricks. If I was to die, taking him with me sounded entertaining. Punishment for his torments.

He nuzzled the slash, and he is so close that I can smell mint in his cologne. My blood smells like iron. There is something beatific about this moment. It reminds me of how my mother would let me drink milk from her chest as an infant. A flicker of desire surprised me. The knife stroked at my scars, feeding the flame.

I felt sorry that I would assassinate him. He was interesting. More so than the Administer and Embry. Even if he had been fooled by that benign mien that tricked so many others. Right before I put the air bubble into their veins, or loaded them up with heroin, or gave them potassium straight into their hearts. His ego and enthusiasm, like a small child's, made him mine.

I prepared to sink the needle into his shoulder just as he pulled away from me. Closed my fingers around the barrel of the syringe. His eye appraised me.

"Thank you for being so beautiful."

I struck, my hand serpentine quick. It would have been expert, but something alerted Stefano to my less than helpless state. I lodged it into his deltoid, my terror allowing me to penetrate his suit. I never had time to press the plunger. The lethal poison remained in the barrel. I wonder if it was a slight smirk, or perhaps my eyes hardening that gave me away. Whatever it was, he captured my wrist in a cruel grip.

"Cos'è questo? Un collega artista? Oh, this is fun!" He squeezed until my fingers let go of the needle. I am shoved back. Before I can fall, red ribbons wrapped themselves around my limbs. Pulled me upright. Now, I am trapped. Even my ability would not get me out of this. The cloth so tight I feel my hands begin to numb.

Relief and anger war inside me as he removed my toy, careful to keep the plunger untouched. He examined it, the syringe small and old-fashioned packed with clear liquid.

Will he execute me or be curious? Would he recognize me? Almost got him, almost saw how his face would slacken as the morphine took hold. I couldn't keep in my gloating.

"Morphine, it would have been... mostly painless. A better death than what you had planned for me, ragazzo dolce." The look on his face is so adorable. A mix of betrayal, anger, recognition and bemusement.

"You are no ingenue. This action shows experience. And you broke my photograph. Who are you?" I could see he knew. I kept quiet, offended that he did not state it.

He pressed the cutting edge up to my neck and I laugh. He wanted my grief. He wanted terror. I would give him mirth. The joy of finding a hunter similar to me, a killer that would end tonight with my heart in his teeth. What I wanted since I was a child. A small nick forms and more gore drips down to join the rest on my healing chest. It was not a complete heal, just patching up the worst of it.

I glance down to the floor, my blood stark against the black and white tiles.

"I am sure slitting my throat will not get you the answers you want." Stefano considered me before the knife disappears. He yanked my face up, my amber eyes meeting his one blue eye.

"No more hiding, cara. You revealed what you really are. I recognized your face from a newspaper, but who are you?" I smiled.

"I was known as the Krimson City Poisoner. I gifted twenty-three people their last peace before getting apprehended. Mobius found value in my mind... just like you."

He starts to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a long time since I played this game but I hope I got Stefano Valentini right. If I didn’t please let me know. Also I hope you guys enjoy it. Note this is only going to get more bloody from here. If you were wondering, I made the main character a killer because that is the only type of character I could see starting a relationship with Stefano without getting torn to shreds. 
> 
> Italian in this fic
> 
> Mia Bella Donna: My beautiful woman  
> la vergine: a virgin  
> No, non possiamo ancora farti rovinare il divertimento: No, we still can't spoil the fun.  
> idiotas: idiots  
> ragazzo dolce: sweet boy  
> Cos'è questo? Un collega artista?: What is this? A fellow artist?  
> Cara: dear


	3. Such delightful work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I show you my works, artist and ask only that you are inspired.

“A celebrity? I never expected to run into you. I heard you died in Beacon.”

“Just a rumor. Mobius thought I was precious after I didn’t crack in STEM. Imagine being on his leash. Being his plaything when I can do what I can do. This situation is preferable.” I smiled, even as Stefano’s gloved hand tightens around my throat.

He stopped laughing a minute ago. He has since found my kit, pocketed it into his jacket. He and I glared at each other. I don’t think he appreciated me breaking his photographs. Thought I would destroy his art.

He needn’t worry, I was only here to kill him. He taps my lips with his fingers.

“How terrible we didn’t meet before all this.” I shock my head.

“Would you stop playing games? Either you will kill me or I you. Playing with your prey is unappealing.”

He left me hanging as the ribbons tightened even more. Until he pulled me closer, rocking me in his arms as if we were waltzing.

“I wonder what I should do with you. Thought you're more flexible considering our shared passion. If you are unwilling to... change your perspective. Maybe I should kill you here. My interest is waning. And I had such plans for you.”

‘Appeal to his vanity. Do something or he’ll slit you open right here.’ I bent my head low, put a whimper into my voice.

“Please forgive me, I did not mean to be rude, Mr. Valentini. As much of a celebrity as I was. You’re a greater at the art than I. I got caught by the police. You didn’t...”

“False flattery is a disgusting thing. Even more vile coming from such a lovely face.” My face fell, I didn’t need to fake my distress. He smirked at me. Gloved hand ran up my back as he held me closer. I expected to hear the click of his camera.

“Take heart, I haven’t come up with a piece to create with you yet. Now that I know who you are, might I suggest a collaboration?”

“A... collaboration?!” I draw back but the ribbons cut into my limbs. The pain keeps me close. They ease up as I stop my struggles. His face is next to mine. His empty eye socket pulsating with electric blue light. The scars heightening his handsomeness.

He buzzed with joy. Effervescent with vitality. Being in STEM seemed to suit him. Could this happiness be mine if I played along?

“Yes, I’m not a greedy creature. Here, I... we have so many canvases to work with. Variety and diversity is vital to art. And seeing you work might teach me some things,” He lets me go, taking time to pose me like a doll. He stepped back.

“Such a cute look. For someone that doesn’t like to play, you’re quite malleable. It is fun to have someone resist me.”

“I don’t know, I am not much of a collaborator myself.” I pout, knowing I can’t make myself appear too eager. Men didn’t like girls that gave in too easily. Or so Papa said. “You’re over eager to get inside me. It is not very charming. I prefer subtlety, sir.” He pressed his knife against my lips.

“Shh,” He hummed against my shoulder, having closed in again. “If I’d known what you were, I wouldn’t have played so roughly with you. For that, I’m sorry. But reconsider.” Oh, his enthusiasm for his art, how I longed to feel it myself.

Maybe I still could. It wasn’t like Mobius could keep track of me here.

I open my mouth and press my tongue along the blade. I calculated this move. He seemed to enjoy my supposed submission. I was always open to persuasion. My blood tasted sweet. He let out a moan. Knife sheathed before he leaned in to kiss me. I tilted my head back, avoiding his lips. Can’t let him get what he wants so easily. He is enough of a gentlemen to not force it.

“I don’t know. There is much eagerness in you. But you had that nasty little beast try to kill me. Why should I trust you?” My voice is soft. I can sense his disappointment. The ribbons raised me until my feet dangled. I cried out as fire travelled up and down my arms.

“Such a sweet sound. You shouldn’t trust me, but I am genuine. You seem unconvinced. Perhaps...” I feel his fingers brush over the healed slash on my chest, my trembling arms. He is eager to play with me. His attention flatters. “Let me show you my gallery. My art. Then you can decide.”

“I am not sure. Your methods are so messy...” I’m so haughty today. Stefano takes my bound hand, still raised high above my head. He presses a kiss against the fingers. Briefly, I feel his tongue flicker against a knuckle. The shiver that went through me. Oh, was I that easy? Had I gone touch starved? He smirked before letting go of my hand.

“I am told that my art can be moving. Especially to fellow artists.” The ribbons loosen. I am back on my feet. He scrutinized me. I don’t know why. Unless I used my teeth, I was defenseless. He had the knife.

“I would love to collaborate with you. As long as I don’t have to deal with your ghastly beast outside this room.” Which room? I wonder. The STEM had a habit of mixing one up and down. This room could be right beside that house or miles underground.

“Eccellente, mio dolce avvelenatore.” He clapped his hands in glee. On cue, the ribbons fall away`. He takes my brown hand, it fits so neatly in his. “What may I call you?”

“Mara.” It is not an accurate name, but it is one I answer to. There was no point in giving him such an important thing of myself.

“Mara.” He says the name as if sampling it. Swirling the sound around his tongue like wine. Ironic since it meant bitter. My names tasted of Wormwood. Or so Papa said before I broke his skull with an axe. “Mara, let me lead you through my gallery.”

He holds his hand out to me, and I take it. “I’m hankering to see it, Mr...” Men did not like a girl that was too smart or knew too much. But Stefano did not appreciate my false modesty.

“Please, there is nothing more dull than a woman that tries to play dumb. It isn’t very cute.”

“Then lead the way, Stefano. Or do you prefer the Krimson City Ripper?” I tease. He grimaces.

“I prefer Stefano.” The room flickers, its shape reforming to his whims.

Watching it happen again made my teeth swim. I have seen a lot of things during my employment with Mobius, but the reality bending still unsettled me. The walls and floors furling in on themselves, then blooming open again.

I gag a little, swaying until Stefano grabs a hold of me. A despicable show of weakness. I worried that he might change his mind. He chuckled.

“It takes getting used to. But soon, you’ll be able to create art too. You just need some inspiration.” He releases me and spun on his heel. We are in another hallway.

This one held several cubes. All of them contained a different victim. Each displaying different methods of death by blade. They jittered in and out of reality, showing their last moments. Some faced it with terror, other resignation, some with defiance. But still the blood flowed.

I pressed my hands on one holding a pretty boy. His gold hair close cropped, fear stricken gray eyes wide. The figure backs up as that same knife appeared. Blood splattered near where my hands rested. He had stabbed this one In the heart. It restarted, the man stumbling in his attempt to run. He appeared foolish. He looked like me earlier tonight. The surface is cool and has a slight give.

“This isn’t even my best works. The ones from before with my favorite subjects are better. I can create the art in my head.”

“Fascinating, I wonder if I could do the same thing?” I stroke the art, as if I could gain some ounce of the power he had. I return his heated stare. “Will you let me see those? I want to see more.” I left the ‘of you’ unsaid.

“Where do you think I’m taking you?” Stefano prowled through this hallway, leading me to another blue door. He hummed to himself, stopping to point out a few he was proud of. I run after.

“This one I am not so proud of. It is one of my first.” I let out a gasp of surprised joy. It is beautiful. The victim is a lovely, pale skinned, brunette. Her slender arms drawn up by ropes. An intense light illuminated her. Sent rainbows of light through her opened chest and lungs. He shaped them into wings. Her hair plaited and placed around her shoulders. A halo of bones attached by wires to her forehead gleamed. I wondered if he painted gold on them.

Despite the wounds, the face is serene. It brought to mind a glass window saint. Or Papa’s sculpture of Jesus. I feel a pull on my hand, but I want to see more. Stefano will not move me yet. A darkness swirls in my head. When I turn from the painting to say so, Stefano looked annoyed.

“I won’t pull you away. I understand you are feeling a connection. But turn that evil eye away from me.” My gaze turns back to the painting. I devour every detail of the work. How the blood on her still bore the marks of his gloved hand. Or where a small nick showed through the stretched lungs.

“I was very shaky back then. Over excited, all I can see is mistakes now. I am still embarrassed by how I slipped and cut a vein there.” He takes my hand and placed it over her thigh. We move my hand to the forehead. I see now that he shaved some of her hair to make way for the halo. “Or here, I fumbled attaching the halo to her head.”

“The mistakes mean you’re human. And those mistakes makes the work more beautiful. The play of light and shadow along her skin is exquisite. Making something divine out of the profane flesh is interesting.” He embraced me, my feet dangling from the floor.

“Oh bella, I knew my work would warm that cool heart. Doesn’t it make you want to go hunting?”

“Yes. I understand why you have been having so much fun.” I kiss the hand he strokes my face with in gratitude.

“Then let me show you my better works.” I don’t know if I could handle more of his art if it was as moving as these pieces.

We reach the bright blue door. It really was his favorite color. From the afterimages of his teleportation to the ambient light of his domain, ultramarine was the dominant hue. This despite his bloodthirsty work. Oh, there were reds. Mostly the curtains and bloodstains and the rich crimson of his gloves. But his gallery was a twilight domain.

He opened the door and another grotesque creature shambled out. It was a quadrupedal thing with long, slim legs. They ended in ballerina shoes. A bit of whimsy of its creator’s part. Instead of a head or face, there was a camera obsurca.

My nose bleed as its lenses focused on me. I backed away. Like two magnets pushing each other away, we opposed one another. A conflict of thoughts forcing a battle of mind.

“It is okay, cara.” I don’t know if he is talking to me or his little pet. The creature bent its strange head, then pet it. “Relax, she is not an enemy or a subject. If she was, why would I bring her here? She is a fellow artist.”

The creature focuses on me and my head pounds. Would this thing kill me before Stefano?

“Come now, don’t be jealous.” Stefano rubs a soothing hand over its lenses as he chuckled. “She’ll never replace you. You are my special girl.”

The drummer in my head stopped beating as it let out a coo. It brushed his head with the camera. “If she will be docile to you, she needs you to touch her.”

“I would rather not. That thing thinks I want you.”

“Now don’t make me come over there and force you.”

I pout, “Must you be so blunt about that.” I steel myself to touch this creature. Expecting to feel sharp points and damp old cloth. Stefano yanked my hand forward.

“Come now, if we are friends. You really must do what I say.” His voice held ice like a threat. A part of me wanted to resist just to make him prove himself. I surrender with a smile.

The creature’s camera is made of warm membranes, bone, and thrumming veins. It flutters against my palms. For a moment, I wanted to grab a hold of its head. Feel the blood run faster in panic as I tore it apart. I shivered, my hand beginning to pet it too hard.

Stefano snatches my hand away.

“What was that for?”

“As fascinating as I find you, Mara... you hurt my Obscura, I will decorate her head with your intestines... or we can see if Wallace wants you still.” I yank my hand away from his.

“I understand, Stefano.” My heart flutters in fear. He cups my face in his hands, examining my face for fear. I keep my gentle smile, attempt to lighten the mood.

“Tell me if you killed me, would you let me lay there or put me up as one of our art pieces? Maybe an angel of mercy or a pierced naiad.”

“Always art, dear. No mercy. Mercy has no place in art.” The Obscura makes a cooing noise as it stalks past us. Not even looking at me. “Come along.”

He leads me into a garden full of wonders. The madness and glory of true artistic creation on display. Bodies twisted and carved into mythical figures, trees, ballerinas, and flowers. Pale flesh decorated with rose red blood drops and polished bones. Bowers made of human limbs and tibias gave shade from the immense blue eye in the sky. Every few steps, one of his works would glitch.

I am ashamed. In all of my murders and sins, never could I hope to approach this. My work could never create something so beautiful in the STEM.

Tears sting my eyes. I reach out to touch one of the frail limbs, its hand and nerves stretched out by wires. It is still warm.

I looked up at him, “How can I ever hope to approach this? I don’t think my methods can reproduce this beauty. ”

“I think you will... with the right motivation.” He stopped by a sculpture, a woman with ash blonde hair and a pink mouth. Blood spilling from an open wound in her chest. He made her to emulate St. Teresa of Avila. Her slender hands clinching at the robes. A single rod pierced the wound. I wondered if the actual piece looked this serene in reality.

His gloved hands roamed over her skin. Eye locked on her skin, back turned to me.

“Can you use a knife, Mara?”

“Only if I have to, I prefer my toys. It’s quiet and they never suffer.” I pick at my shirt, looping my fingers in the strayed fabrics.

“There it is again, mercy. Why do you like to give those canvases mercy?” Stefano makes it sound like the vilest curse. “Art, true art is about suffering. The ugliness of death and pain in those last moments. To show mercy is an artless action. I’ve no need for it.”

“Yet, you surround yourself in repurposed beauty. Your pretty models twisted into famous saints and angels. You devoted this entire gallery to beauty. I understand beauty. I show mercy because I find it just as beautiful as you find suffering. It pleases me to know that they are helpless to my whims. What better art than the power of life or death.” The gallery flickered. I knew my brief flash of anger was blurring reality here.

“Control yourself, little Mara. Do that too much and the Administrator might use you for the next Core.” He reached inside his pocket, pulling out a stiletto. It gleamed with possibilities.

“I wasn’t mocking you, my dear. Your methods caused enough suffering to please my aesthetic sensibilities. How those siblings cried, those mothers whimpered, those children wept at your trial.” Stefano’s reality reasserted itself as I calmed down.

“Their tears gave me solace even in the STEM. Especially when Ruvik tried to play with me. Is that for me?” He nods, beckoning me closer. Blood transformed into rose petals, landing softly on my shirt.

“I want to see you kill, Mara. As you Americans say, show me how you walk the walk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long. New job is hard. But I am trying to finish this by the next one to two chapters. I hope you guys are enjoying this so far. I always welcome constructive criticism and feedback. Also don’t worry, the messed up murder, guro, and smut parts is going to happen in the next chapter.
> 
> Translation  
> Excellent, my sweet poisoner.= Eccellente, mio dolce avvelenatore.


	4. Accepting the art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Embracing the knife might save you from death, but will it save you from his admiration? Just because you're a monster doesn't mean you're safe from the depths. Even when you play the game.

I took the knife gently, as one would a nervous bird. It rested in my palm, the energy of his thoughts creeped along my nerves. If I had no power, been of weaker mind, holding this elegantly carved stiletto would corrupt me utterly. I felt the urge to throw it away. 

But it was never polite to reject a gift. His thoughts wrapped around mine. In the strangler’s grip of that mental union, I sensed how he wanted to ruin me. He would cut out my eyes and replace them with jewels. Stefano would make an incorruptible saint of me. Enshrined in gold and jewels, only moving when he wished to keep a victim still. 

This idea made me nervous. I was an active person, would not easily lie down to his whims. Despite this truce brought on by his interest, I would need to bargain again. 

“It seems to like you.” He reaches out to rub Obscura’s legs, and it lets out a chirp of joy at his caress. “See, it didn’t change her, cara. I am glad you’re strong of mind.”

“A test? You still don’t trust how much I want to make art with you?” I clasp the handle. Feel the weight of it in my hands. If I was to kill with it, I must know it utterly. 

“Your methods seem messy. Isn't that what you said, Mara?” He grinned at me. I did not let myself raise to the bait. I shrugged. 

“That was before I saw the end results. You are less of a wild beast than I originally thought. Will you escort me back?” 

“No, that door back there will take you to the hotel. From there, you are free to hunt.” He gestured to a red door. I realize now that I was putting a great deal of faith in his whims. He could easily have used that door to send me to many places. Any place that would make it easy for me to die. 

My fingers trembled as I took the knob in my hand. His voice is in my ear. Gloved hand over mine trails along my stomach.

“Why are you afraid, Mara? Do you think I would let you die by someone else’s hands?” His words were less than reassuring. But as he said, Stefano’s passion was sincere. There was something to trust in that.

I pull open the door. “I will be back, and I will bring someone worth our time.” 

I stepped through. 

***********

There had been another survivor of Embry’s team. A coltish looking woman with long brown hair tied up in a bun and soft brown eyes. exactly Stefano’s type if the stiletto quivering along my fingers was any sign. Her name was Lizbeth, or something like that. Not that she seemed interested in confirming that when we first met. Monster was all she called me then.

Now she hid and sneaked getting past the Lost and Disciples without gaining their attentions. I wondered why she wasn’t at the cult’s sacrifice. She seemed to have a talent for survival. Better than mine. But she had messed up by coming to Stefano’s domain. Lizbeth ran toward the hotel, possibly seeking some kind of shelter.

The blue light of Stefano’s ever-watchful eye crackling across the sky gave her an occasional jolt of terror. I could see her fear from my perch at the window.

Poor sweet lamb, soon I will free you from your fear. I turn back into the room I was in. Time to get started with the play.

I use the stiletto to reopen the slash across my chest, wincing at the sensation. To lure Lizbeth, I would have to be crafty. Every minute she had stayed alive for only made her more cautious.

Her footsteps are loud in the hallway. Muttering to herself about how fucked this situation was. I winced at the profanity. How rude. Didn’t her papa teach her that profanity was unladylike?

A whimper, that was all it took for her to stop and call out. Despite all the terrors of the night, she was still gentle and naïve. 

“Please… help me.” I put terror in my voice. Make my voice wobble to play up my helplessness.

“Where are you?!” Her voice is also loud. Maybe I underestimated her talent for survival. 

“I’m… here.” My fingers play along my wound, causing my voice to waver. A deep thrust of my finger into a sinew made me moan. She followed the sounds as I panted and cried, slumped in the room's doorway. Lizbeth glanced back and forth, her gun in hand. Such a kind, helpful woman.

‘Willingly you put that slender neck into the noose.’ I bite back a smile. The point was to appear miserable and anxious. 

“Oh, thank God! I thought I was the only one left. Despite you being you, seeing you give me hope that the others survived.” Oh, dear! How hard it was to not burst into laughter at the hope on her face. She examines my wounds. Was that the glitter of tears in her eyes? I wonder what would make the dam break?

“No injury to your legs. You can use me for support to walk if you can’t.” I wondered what monsters she’d seen to make me the lesser evil.

This close, she smells of sweat and anxiety. An acrid scent that makes my nose wrinkle. The stiletto twists in my hand, but I keep it hidden. “We have to get out of here. The photographer was here. I ran but he can come back at anytime. He hurt me… I… please help me get out of here.”

A look of horror on her face as she takes in my ripped clothes and the blood on my chest. Maybe I laid it on a little thick. “I’m so sorry that happened to you… If I catch that monster, he’s dead. Come on, let’s get you to a safe house.”

I nodded, swayed, then struck. The stiletto hit her spine on the first strike. Ironically, in the back. High enough to paralyze, but low enough to spare her vital functions. She never drew her gun. It clatters to the floor.

I still had it. The blow was sure, steady and quick. Though I hated using knives when the poison was more elegant. She appeared confused. Hands suddenly nerveless. Her knees buckled and she let out a soft sigh. I let her pull me down with her. As her feet drummed against the hotel floor, I kissed her forehead. Healed my cuts with a thought.

“It’s okay. You’re a sacrifice for high art. For what we have planned, it’s better that you can’t move Lizbeth.” Tears flow down her cheek and I coo. “Besides, didn’t your papa not teach you to not trust strangers and killers?” 

Lizbeth tries to say something, but I put a hand around her neck. With love, I take away her voice. If I was to make art, I didn’t want to be distracted by her screams.

“Cara, you promised to make art without mercy.” I glanced up to see him flickering into substance. Remnants of his teleportation clings to his heels like ash. A single red petal landed on his lapel, dissolving into blood. Acetic acid penetrating my senses. He looked elegant, like an old world dandy from my favorite books.

I let go with a smirk. Lizbeth tried her best to scream, but papa had taught me well. She really looked funny, her lips closing and opening before her face screwed up into a voiceless sob. 

I bopped her nose. “Now, now. Don’t make yourself look ugly now. I want a lovely canvas, not some frail, ugly thing.” 

“Your choice is exquisite. To think I doubted you…” He grabs a hold of her face, turning it this way and that. Probably trying to figure out the best angles for his work. “Very sneaky of you to play the wounded bird.”

“Don’t you know it is more fun to deceive your playthings?” I shiver when I feel him embrace me from behind. There were so many places for him to strike. He only strokes along my scars. His mouth against my neck. My heart beats faster, fear and desire making my hands shake “What are you doing?”

“I’m admiring the both of you, cara. Has no one ever admired you? You feel soft, even with the keloid. Will your canvas scream as you make your art?” His voice is a purr against my carotid and I was only too aware how he could bite out my throat. I still moan when he kisses me.

“N… no. She can’t scream. But she will feel every cut. And isn’t that worse than screaming? Not being able to express the… pain.” My voice wavers when his gloved fingers flutter along my thighs.

Lizbeth looks at us, horrified. Screwing her eyes shut like a child to hide from the monsters. I regain my momentum. “Isn’t it worse to feel pain so bad you can’t even scream because of it?”

“It produces the most powerful art. What will you make with your canvas?” He takes his hand off of my thigh but keeps his lips pressed against my throat.

“A sculpture, following your lead. I was thinking of a lace pattern. Something soft and effervescent to celebrate my artistic liberation. Flowers and stars or something just as lovely. We can use her pale skin to make a shawl of the finest quality, full of roses and birds. Have you ever skinned someone before?” I caress her face as her lips quiver at the terrible suggestion.

What is getting into me? I feel light-headed and giddy. Like the moments before, I pressed the pillow against my first victim’s face.

“I have. I’ll guide you through it.” His lips stay pressed harder against my neck. I feel a smile. For the briefest moment, I feel teeth. “I must admit, I haven’t tried that before. You are adapting well to this form of the art.”

“If you are willing to learn such a womanly art, I will teach you, cuore mio.” Be pleasing and appeal to his ego. He kisses my neck. Whispering Italian words too fast for me to translate. Lizbeth looks at us with wide-eyed terror. She knows she’s doomed.

I let out a sigh as his knife presses against my stomach. This was the Stefano I was familiar with. Ready to cut me open to witness the constellation of my nerves and blood. Then he nuzzles me again, teeth nipping at my shoulder.

“If it makes beautiful art, I’ll learn whatever you have to teach me.” He takes my bloody hand in his. My brown hand in his red right hand. The image makes me think of a song my father liked to listen to. But I don’t remember the lyrics. In this corner of the STEM, all memories but that of the kill became hazy. And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to resist if it meant being this full of sensation. Even if pain and horror were coming, I felt more alive than I had in the last two years.

“Come along, mio vita. We have so much art to make.” Terror blooms red and heavy in my thoughts at the smile on his face. It was full of a more terrifying thing than bloodlust or hunger. Adoration, his eyes were full of it. Before I can pull back, he pulls me along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mio cuoro- My heart  
> Mio vita- my life
> 
> Oh no Mara run, I think Stefano is starting to fall for you. Even if you are despicable too. You really should have gone back to Wallace. The next chapter is the end.


End file.
